The classroom buzzed with chatter as Selen settled into an empty seat at the back. She crossed her legs gracefully, her Chanel bag resting neatly beside her. The moment she sat down, whispers fluttered across the room like wildfire.
And then the atmosphere shifted.
Sofia and her clique strutted in. The noise died instantly, the air heavy with expectation. Sofia's sharp heels clicked against the floor as she flicked her perfect hair back, her gang trailing like shadows.
Angela, one of her loyal minions, sneered as she stopped by Selen's desk. "Hey, newbie," she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "I don't even see what's so special about you. But let me warn you…" Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she drew her thumb across her throat in a slicing motion. "Don't cross our path. Or you'll be dead."
Terry, standing beside her with her arms folded, smirked and added, "Consider this your first and only warning."
Gasps rippled through the class. All eyes darted between the reigning queens and the bold new girl. Would she crumble? Would she beg for mercy?
But Selen only leaned back in her chair, her golden hair catching the sunlight from the window. She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into the faintest smirk.
If they want trouble… I'll give them trouble.
She wasn't the type to bow. Not here. Not ever.
Before anyone could react further, the room erupted into shrieks.
"OH MY GOD!"
"They're here!"
"The BF3!"
The doors swung open and the infamous BF3—the most untouchable boys in NLGS—stepped inside.
Dylan, son of the school owner, led the trio. He wore ripped black jeans with a silver chain draped across his pocket, a loose white singlet stretched across his broad chest, and a thin shirt hanging open carelessly. His muscles tensed with each step, his jaw sharp, his dark hair messy yet perfect. A silver lip piercing gleamed as he smirked at the chaos their entrance caused.
Beside him, Felix moved like a shadow—quiet, dangerous, magnetic. Dressed in all black joggers and a hoodie, his brown hair fell slightly over his matching eyes, an eyebrow piercing glinting beneath the lights. Girls clutched their chests as he passed, their fantasies spilling into whispered confessions.
And then came Croydon. In his bubblegum-pink hoodie and matching joggers, he stood out like a burst of color in a storm. His hair, dyed the same shade of pink, bounced slightly as he walked. His big, innocent black eyes made him look like a mischievous doll—but everyone in NLGS knew better. Croydon was unpredictable. Obsessive. A storm wrapped in candy floss.
The classroom erupted.
"Dylan, please look at me!" one girl cried desperately.
"Felix! Just one night—just one!" another begged shamelessly.
"Oh my God, Croydon's pink hair… I LOVE it!" squealed someone from the front row.
The boys barely reacted. They were used to the screaming, the chaos, the worship. For them, this was routine. They walked through the madness like kings, unfazed, their presence bending the air around them.
Selen watched quietly, her chin propped on her hand. Unlike the other girls, she didn't squeal, didn't beg, didn't throw herself forward. She simply observed.
So these are the famous BF3, she thought. No wonder the entire school bows at their feet.
But she also noticed something others didn't. For just a brief moment, Dylan's eyes flicked toward her. Brown meeting gold. His smirk faltered for the slightest second—then returned, sharper than before.
Selen's lips curved. Interesting.